


how fickle my heart

by nagatha_christie



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Pig Grimshaw - Freeform, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:45:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagatha_christie/pseuds/nagatha_christie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has thin wrists and big palms, just like Nick, and the eye contact is easy. For ages Nick’s been self-conscious about her height and her hands -- always the big spoon in spoons, the outer hand in handholding -- and she wonders if Harry’s the same way. </p><p>Harry seems to embrace it, with rings that press hard against Nick’s own when they touch. She’s got a mix, Nick notices, of chunky antiques and stacked Topshop rings. She shows off what’s different about her in the way it took Nick years to learn, and Nick likes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how fickle my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fezpo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fezpo/gifts).



> I'm thrilled that I was able to finish this, and I hope you enjoy it <3
> 
> I couldn't have done this without everyone who has given me advice, validation, and squee. Plus anyone who liked my angsty writing selfies on tumblr during this process. YOU ALL MEAN A LOT TO ME.
> 
> I do not own or know any of the people in this work. Title is from "Awake My Soul", by Mumford and Sons.

Collette’s been puttering around the flat a good five minutes before Nick begins to wonder where she’s gone.

“Did you get _lost,_ Collette?” Nick drawls. She has to shout to be heard over the telly. “I know the kitchen can be tricky to find, since my flat is just  _so_ massive..."

“Found the kitchen just fine, love. It’s the food that’s giving me bother,” Collette says. Nick can practically hear the frown in her voice, even from the other room.

“What d’you mean? Do you need help getting your own snack or summat?” Nick hopes the answer is no; clicker in her hand and dog at her feet, she’s not planning to get up for at least an hour. Or at least not till Strictly is over.

“That’s the rub -- there’s nothing I  _can_ eat!” Collette’s voice gets even higher. Nick can just picture Collette waving her arms around in a tizzy.

“There’s nothing edible, or there’s nothing you want?” Nick calls. “Because I’m fresh out of tofu strips and artichoke paste, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Would you just come here, Grimmy?”

“Can you wait? They’re just about to announce Millsy’s score.”

“Yeah, sure, I can wait. I’ll just wait till your show is over, wasting away bit by bit, minute by minute...”

Nick sighs, rolling her eyes. Pig follows at her heels as she heads toward the kitchen. Collette is standing in front of the gaping fridge, hands on her hips. 

“See for yourself.” Collette motions toward the open doors. Nick hates to say it, but Collette’s right. Aside from some cans of diet cola and half a bottle of Italian dressing, there isn’t much. Perhaps she could combine the spoonful of garlic butter with the bread Daisy brought over a couple weeks ago. Collette could snack on that. Yeah, that could work.

Oh, drat. Collette’s off grains this week.

“ _Please_ tell me you had all your mates over and that’s why it’s all gone.”

“It isn’t all gone,” Nick says, a bit indignant. “There’s, um. There’s some leftovers you can have. See? In the back. Go look.”

Collette gives Nick a skeptical look before sticking her arm in the fridge and grabbing the Tupperware container. She holds it at arms’ length and examines it from every angle, like a curious scientist would a lab specimen.

“Leftover _what,_ though? Is that stew? Or slaw? Can’t eat it, anyway. I’m off meat this week. Only eating colourful foods.”

"I thought just bread."

"That, too."

“Looks like leftover roast,” Nick says. Whatever it is, Pig seems right excited about it, getting up on her heels to join in the discovering.

“See, Piggie likes it,” Nick says, trying to sound encouraging, since the container appears to contain murky brown slop. Not terribly unlike Pig’s wet food, actually.

Slowly, Collette’s face changes. A look of horror commands her face, mouth puckering and eyebrows raising. The hand holding the roast drops down to her hip. 

 _"Roast,_  you said?” Collette says, her voice rising. “The roast we had with your radio crew? Three _weeks_ ago?” Collette brings the container back up, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. She stares at it, as if the moment she takes her gaze from it, it’ll come alive. Buggy eyes look at the container, at Nick, and back at the container again.

“I guess I forgot about it,” Nick says with a grimace. “But maybe smell it? It could still be alright?” Nick knows it’s a weak thing to say, even as she says it, and Collette doesn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, she places the container back in the fridge and closes the door carefully.

And then she shudders. Literally shudders.

“Oh, Grim,” Collette moans, shaking her head. “That’s ‘orrible.” She covers her face with her hands.

Nick decides not to tell her about the time she’d defrosted a pizza, forgotten about it, and then had it for lunch the next day.

“What do you _eat?_ " Collette asks, her tone an even blend of pity and concern.

Nick shrugs. “Loads of takeaway.”

“What about those cooking lessons Daisy gave you?”

“Well, she mostly taught me how to make desserts. Cheesecakes, tarts. That sort of thing.” Nick’s mouth starts to water, thinking about Daisy’s fig cookies. “Oh, and one time she came round and we made five pies together. Well scrummy, those, and enough to last a week.”

“You can’t eat only desserts!” Collette squawks.

“You’d be surprised,” Nick says, nodding sagely.

Collette looks aghast.

“As if I was _go_ ing to!” Nick protests.

“I sure hope not,” Collette says, plopping down at the breakfast bar. Nick sits down next to her, ankles crossed.

“You’ve got to practise, darling. Cooking isn’t like riding a bike. You don’t just learn and then you’re able to do all these tricks, those hopsies and -- ”

“Ollies,” Nick supplies helpfully.

“You can’t just get on a bike for the first time and all of a sudden know how to do ollies, just like you can’t learn one dish and expect to know them all.”

“But I _hate_ cooking, Collette. I never like anything I make.”

“That’s probably because the food you buy is rubbish. Where do you get your groceries?”

“I usually go to the Tesco ‘round the corner. Sometimes I go to the place near work, too. For variety.”

“Oh, darling,” Collette says, and takes Nick’s hand. “You need me.”

Her sympathetic tone and gentle grasp is even more than usual; Nick has the sneaking suspicion Collette’s getting ready to cajole her into something.

“I really don’t, Collette.” Nick doesn’t like where this is going. “I don’t. I’m doing just fine.”

“You need to know how to _cook_ , Grim. Healthy things, not just breakfast food and pasta. It’s a very important skill. How do you expect to get on if you don’t?”

She lets that sentence hang in the air, as if expecting it to shame Nick into agreeing with whatever she’s going to propose.

“I’ve got it! I’ve an idea! We’re going to the outdoor market,” Collette proclaims, getting up from her stool with purpose.

“Oh, no. I don’t think so.”

“You are going to start making your own meals -- three proper meals a day, nutritious ones. Food you can be proud of.”

“I’m a busy woman, Collette. I can’t just slave away over the stove all the time, I have things to do. Important people to email. A dog to watch.”

“Well, you can’t live on celery sticks, white wine, and stale crisps, now can you?”

“I’d be willing to give it a go.”

“By the second week, you would actually _be_ a crisp, I reckon.” Collette puts her hands on her hips. Her brow furrows, as if it pains her just thinking of it.

“But you’d still love me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would,” Collette says, leaning over to pat Nick’s knee. “Don’t think that’ll get you out of going to the market, though. Don’t think it for one single second.”

“But Coll _ette_ …”

“Don’t ‘but-Collette’ me. We’ve put it off far too long.”

“Not long enough, you mean. I think you meant to say that, really, I do. It’s okay, we all misspeak sometimes.”

“It’ll be a grand old time, Nick. We’ll fill up your fridge with fresh vegetables and scrummy preserves, and grass-fed beef, and you’ll be able to make some healthy breads for everyone… It’ll be well nice.”

If Nick’s being honest, that really doesn’t sound _so_ horrible. Maybe even a little teeny itty-bitty bit nice.

“No,” Nick says, staying strong. She gets off her stool to stand opposite Collette, arms crossed.

“If you start cooking for yourself, you’ll have all these scrummy meals to show off to your friends on Instagram. You’ll make everyone green with envy,” Collette says.

“Then they’ll all want to come ‘round, and I’ll be all busy in the kitchen making them food. I won't be able to socialise!”

“You’re never too busy to socialise.”

“That’s true.” Nick grins.

“I really hate to be the one to tell you this, Grimmy, but no one wants to see your grubby Nando’s bag.”

“That got like six thousand likes, so I think you owe Nando’s an apology.”

“I think they owe you an apology. All that greasy chicken.” Collette grimaces.

Nick just laughs. Nando’s is fucking delicious; Collette doesn’t know what she’s missing.

“You know, the takeaway people really shouldn’t know you by name,” Collette says. “I think that’s called an unhealthy attachment.”

“They don’t know my name ‘cause I call in so often; they know my name ‘cause I am a very attractive woman… who happens to sometimes use that to her advantage to get out of the delivery charge.”

Collette grins. “You’re wicked,” she says.

“I learned from the best.”

“Hey, stop that. No distractions. Flattery will get you nowhere. You’re coming with me tomorrow, and that’s that.”

Nick sighs, gets a proper sulk in before she shifts back into strop mode.

“But it takes ten _million_ years to get through the market with you. You have so many bloody _questions_ , like ‘how was the corn treated before it was harvested’ and ‘did the bean sprouts get lots of natural sunlight’.” Nick does her best impression of Collette, putting on a thick accent and drawing out her words. “You have to stop to talk to _each_ person, and every five minutes you stop to take some deep _cleansing_ breaths. It’s like walking with a bloomin’ puppy.” Nick pauses. “No, actually, it’d be quicker with the puppy, I reckon. She just wants to grab her scraps and see what’s next; you have to bloody _take in_ everything with all five of your senses.”

“I get very curious about what I put into my body! Not my fault you can’t be bothered. Just want to get your things and go, you.”

“That was one time, Collette,” Nick whinges. “I had all these afternoon meetings, but you wanted to stop off ‘real quick’ to get a few things, which turned into four hours, and then I was late to everything.”

“Well, do you have any meetings tomorrow?”

“Don’t think so...” Nick gives her a sidelong look.

“Wonderful. I’ll pick you up at ten. Just enough time to get in brekky and my morning cardio.”

“I’m really glad that I get a say in this.”

“It’s for your own good.”

“Says you.”

“Says the one of us who’s going to live to be 100 because of her careful diet and exercise regimen. But if you don’t want to live to be 100, I mean, I’m not going to stand in your way...”

“ _Fine,_  I’ll go.” Nick lets out a huge sigh. “But you’ve got to invite Daisy, and I’m bringing Pig along for moral support."

"I'll call Daisy right now."

"And you have to let me crimp your hair.” Nick grins, cheeky. “Because it’s a very strong look and I think you could pull it off. But also mostly because of that one time in Camden when you said you’d let me, and then after I’d gone through all the trouble of tracking down a crimper, you said no.”

“That was at least five years ago.”

"Well, it wasn’t very nice, that. I think you still owe me.”

“Alright.” Collette sighs. “But I’m trusting you with it. Be careful, because this hair is my moneymaker.”

“I’ll do a good job, promise. Don’t I always?”

“That’s debatable, my little duck.”

“This could turn out to be the best business decision you’ve ever made. Could end up your new signature hairstyle. Get you in all the papers.”

“Oh, hush.” But Collette smiles anyway, pleased.

\--

“I can’t believe you got us four tins of raspberries free of charge. Four tins!” Nick tries to wave her arms around for emphasis, but that proves difficult, with one hand holding Pig’s lead and the other hand holding two bags of goods.

“It’s all in the eyes,” Daisy says. “But you’ve got to be subtle about it. Little bit of arm-touching, little bit of eye-batting. You’d be surprised at how far it can go.”

“You’ve got to be subtle, love. Don’t want to hit them over the head with it,” Collette adds. Quite the flirts, the two of them.

“I don’t hit anyone --” Nick huffs, and then stops short. She recalls all the leather miniskirts she’d bought over the years, the sultry pouts she’d practised in the mirror, the teetering pumps she’d perfected walking in.

Okay, so her subtlety could use some work.

“But it’s alright, Grim. Just part of your charm.” Collette says in that knowing way of hers, so sweet, Nick doesn’t even bother disputing it, just lets it go. She’s feeling too brilliant to bicker, anyway. She feels like she did something really productive today. Like it’s the start of a new era for Nick Grimshaw. A healthy era with only occasional sweets and kale breakfast smoothies every day. And more manicures. Expensive ones.

"Why am _I_ holding all the bags?" Collette whinges, the sentence punctuated with a huffy breath. She's got three of her organic bags on one arm and two on the other. Knowing Collette, though, she’s most distressed that she can’t adjust the sunglasses slipping down her nose.

“Your hemp bags don’t hold very much,” Nick says.

"C'mon, work those muscles!" Daisy says, but with a shiny forehead and a drooping ponytail, her joviality is only mildly convincing. "Don't you feel it in your triceps?”

“I don't _want_ to feel it in my triceps, love," Collette moans.

“I don’t know what you’re on about; I reckon you exercise more in a week than I do in a year,” Nick teases.

Collette’s face is all screwed up, her lips pursed ducklike. The bags look like they weigh more than she does.

Nick doesn’t want to carry more things, but she also doesn’t want to risk a strop, because she really does need those groceries back at her flat. She reaches out and pushes Collette’s sunglasses back up as a compromise.

“Ta,” Collette says, face calming.

"Once Pig gets a little bigger, she’'ll be able to carry the groceries,” Daisy teases.

“Absolutely.” Nick grins.

“Won’t you, Piggie?” Daisy coos. “Soon Grimmy won't even need us."

"Oh, don’t worry, I'll still need you,” Nick says. “If Pig’s anything like her mum, she’ll be lazy and let her mates do the heavy lifting for her.”

"That's right," Collette says. She grins, nudging Nick in the ribs. "Without us, who'll show you what a proper ripe mango looks like?"

"Or find you the peppercorns," Daisy adds.

"Which are not peppers or corn, as I know,” Nick says.

"As you know _now_ , y'mean,” Collette says.

"Yes, Collette." Nick sticks out her tongue.

The lead gets tangled up in the bags Nick’s carrying, and Nick stops and kneels so she can sort it out.

“Hold on,” Nick says. At this point, it’s gotten quite tangled, like unwrapping a ball of yarn.

There’s a sharp tug, and all of a sudden, Pig’s free and frantic, a blur of white as she runs off with the lead trailing behind her.

“Grim, look,” Daisy gasps.

“She does this all the time,” Nick says. She can't help but smile; Pig’s tail wagging is just _adorable_. She can picture Pig’s wild grin and the way her tongue flops out of her mouth when she’s happy. “She’ll be back in a minute.”

“Pig, oh, Pig!” Daisy calls, setting her bags down and cupping her hands over her mouth to shout.

“What are you _doing_? Go on after her!” Collette doesn’t seem to grasp how adorable it is.

Nick gets to her feet with some effort, realizing how heavy the bags really are. She must have gotten the bag with all the jars.

“C’mon, Piggie, come on back, Little Pig,” Nick calls.

Collette and Daisy join in, and it’s a quite nice little chorus, the three of them calling Pig’s name.

But Pig gets smaller and further away. Nick realises: she isn’t coming back.

Nick drops the bags and breaks into a sprint after the dog.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Nick shouts. Leaves crunch underfoot as Nick runs, and even from the yards of distance, Nick can tell Pig’s coat has already gotten a bit mucky. Delightful.

“Are you going to make some dog pals, is that where you’re off to?”

Wind’s rushing past her, a whole torrent that makes her eyes water and burn. Nick can’t remember the last time something had motivated her to run like this, and it becomes clear very quickly that she’s out of practice. She forgets to breathe through her nose until it’s too late and  her throat is already parched and aching. As she runs, she’s constantly concerned about her trainers slipping right off. Her parka’s swung open at her sides, and it’s making this hilarious noise to go along with the squeaky sounds her leather trousers are making.

Thankfully, there aren’t many people in this side of the park, so there are few people who witness her making a bloody fool of herself, flapping her arms and shoving her hood off her head, and shouting at her bloody dog as loud as she can. Each person she does see becomes a threat to imminent dog-napping. Dogs run away and then they get snatched up by evil men with handlebar moustaches and taken to the pound. _Isn’t that how it happens? Right? Do pounds even exist anymore? Did they just exist in tearjerker animated movies and in threats from pissed dog owners?_  

“This isn’t funny, Pig! I’m not having a laugh!” Nick shouts, trying to disguise her mounting hysteria. “How are you so  _fast_  ? My legs are longer than yours!” she calls, as if it means anything.

A fountain comes into view in front of Nick, white marble and ancient-looking, like it’d been carved out of the sands of time themselves. Nick’s relieved to see it; if Pig wouldn’t stop for her, maybe she would stop once she reached the fountain, and then Nick could grab her.

The relief leads Nick to slow down a bit, and Nick’s at a jog by the time she sees Pig reach the fountain, which Pig promptly jumps into. Nick groans and picks up the pace. If she can’t prevent Pig from going into the fountain, maybe she can prevent her from getting _completely_ filthy.

When Nick reaches the fountain, she takes a few desperate seconds to try and get her breathing even. Once she's no longer gasping, she takes in the fountain. It’s shallow and round; just a handful of meters across, with a pillar in the middle spurting water. Nick cringes. She really doesn’t want to get her clothes soggy and dirty. She’d much like to avoid that.

“C’mon, Piggie, you don’t _really_ want to play in there.” Nick tries her best to be convincing, but knows that she’s much too late. Pig just splashes a bit more and laps up some of the absolutely vile pond water.

_This is the creature I have chosen to love._

“Come on, girl, come back to mum.” But it hadn’t worked before, and it doesn’t seem to be working now. Nick’s got to work on that.

Trying to catch her breath, Nick follows Pig on the ground as she pokes around the inside perimeter of the fountain. Pig seems to think it’s a game, though, and begins to run further away.

“Don’t you want to be a good puppy and come out of the mucky water for mum? Do you want a treat? Mum will give you a treat if you come on out. She’ll give you ten treats.”

Nick sighs impatiently as Pig tries to eat a clump of leaves. This was getting ridiculous. Who was she kidding? This had been ridiculous for ages. This was her life now.

Pig couldn’t be trusted; Nick would have to take matters into her own hands.

“Alright, Pig, you want a game? We’re going to play a game, it’s called  _I’m going to get you out of this bloody fountain right bloody now_.” Nick takes a deep breath and steps into the fountain. She instantly regrets it, as cold mucky water seeps into her shoe and soaks the bottom of her trackies. She hisses as she puts the other one in, steeling herself. She was running on adrenaline now, determined to get her dog back.

Or not. Pig’s sat on the other side of the fountain with her tongue out and her eyes shining.

 _Yeah, right, best time ever._  Turns out it’s well difficult to walk in wet leather trackies. And they don’t provide much warmth. Nick’s teeth chatter, and she wraps her arms around herself.

“Come here, my little brat,” Nick says, but she can’t help but laugh softly at herself. Ridiculous, all of it.

Pig, of course, takes this to mean _run as far as you can,_  splashing water everywhere until she finds the nearest fountain edge and jumps out.

“Are you bloody kidding me?” Nick shouts. “You are _so_  grounded!” She takes a step and nearly tips over. “As soon as I get out of this fountain!” _If I ever do,_  she mutters.

After a series of admirably graceful maneuvers, Nick makes her way out of the fountain. She  glances up to see Pig shake herself off and then begin to chew on her tail.

“Oh, hell,” she mutters, beginning to survey the damage. Her trainers look ruined; faux snakeskin isn’t the kind of material you can just blow dry or leave in the sun. It’s the kind of material you need to avoid getting wet at all costs. Her trackies aren’t doing much better: the leather is sticking to her calves, and she reckons they’ll be a pain to walk home in. Another article of clothing meant never to be gotten wet. She pushes her messy fringe out of her eyes. Good thing she’s always been a fan of the wind-swept look.

Nick can feel tears drying on her face and realises her makeup must be running terribly. _That’s just ace._  She pulls out her compact from the pocket of her jacket and assesses. Not too bad. She just looks like she’d had a big cry. She swipes beneath her eyes and around her mouth to look somewhat less clownish. It only somewhat works, to her chagrin. Her falsies are coming off, too, but she hadn’t done a bang-up job to begin with.

“Eight-hour hold, my arse,” Nick says, trying in vain to get the lashes to stick back on. “Bleedin’ things.”

In her peripheral vision, Nick can see Pig starting to trot toward a figure sitting beneath a tree. Nick realises with a start that she’s no longer concerned about Pig being dog-napped: anyone silly enough to grab her would probably return her an hour later. Nick reckons she’s the only one who can stand Pig on a full-time basis.

Pig’s approaching a girl about thirty paces away, sitting beneath a tree. Her head is dipped into a book. She’s wearing denim shorts, her arms and legs exposed even though it’s fifty at best and overcast. Her face is shaded by the floppy sunhat she's wearing, and the gold ribbon wrapped around it reflects the leaves above her.

Nick figures it’s unfair to let her sopping-wet dog go up to somebody without at least trying to warn them.

“Oi! Dog coming your way!” Nick shouts.

The girl’s so engrossed in the diary that Pig has to nudge her leg before she realises Pig’s even there. Then she smiles at Pig and holds out her hand for Pig to sniff before scratching her underneath her chin. The girl’s talking to Pig, with words Nick can’t hear and in a tone that doesn’t travel above the wind.

Despite the cloudy day, the girl’s clothing seems hopeful: there isn't any sun currently, but there could be, if she just waited long enough. Nick bets that if she went over there, she would be able to catch the distinctly sweet scent of sunscreen.

So she does, trying to look casual. It’s hard, considering she hasn’t quite caught her breath from the traumatic Pig ordeal.

“Sorry about that,” Nick says, running a hand through her hair in a failed attempt to make it look like a sensible person’s. “I couldn’t stop her. A force to be reckoned with, Pig is.”

Now that Nick’s closer, she can see the girl’s shorts are actually cut-off overalls. She’s got a pair of sunglasses tucked into the neck of her gaudy, sunflower-printed top. The whole get-up is aggressively cheerful, and oddly breathtaking.

“It’s alright,” the girl says. Nick catches the curve of a grin beneath the brim of her hat. “Pig, that’s her name?”

“I was going to name her Stinky Baby -- obvious reasons --  but my mates convinced me otherwise.”

“Hi, Pig,” she says softly, shaking Pig’s paw. “Hiya, hiya, hiya,” she coos. Pig’s ears perk every time she says it, and the girl peeks up to exchange a smile with Nick.

“She’s not always this mucky,” Nick says, as an apology for the girl’s mud-smeared hands. She keeps petting Pig, though, so maybe she isn’t put off, after all. “That’s kind of a lie, actually; I have to bathe her all the time. She gets into everything, especially when we go on walks.”

“Is that so? Do you get into everything?” she asks Pig. “Do you go after trouble? And squirrels?”

The girl speaks in the same soft tone Pig seems to recognise, and Pig cocks her head before trying to squirm into the girl’s lap and lick her face.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Nick kneels down and scoops Pig up and away. "No need for you to ruin two people’s outfits today.”

Nick turns to face Pig, hoisted up underneath her arm. They’re almost nose to nose.

“One of these days I’m going to get you one of them harnesses with a handle. I’ll be able to lift you up like a purse. Keep a better eye on you. Won’t be able to run away anymore, get into trouble. Is that really what you want? I don’t think it is. I think you’d find it annoying.”

Pig frowns. As much as a dog can frown, anyway.

“I’ll be good, mum,” the girl fills in for Pig, her voice squeaky and high. “I won’t run away anymore, and I won’t jump on strangers, or sniff my bum and then lick you, I pro-o-o-o-mise.”

Nick busts out laughing. She’s still giggling when she says, “Alright, brill. Now that’s the good girl I know.” She rubs Pig on the top of her head and puts her back on the ground. She grabs the lead this time, though, just in case Pig doesn’t make honest on her word.

Looking down at her, Nick realises how downright _fit_ the girl is, a blatant sort of beauty that’s subtle at the same time, the way iridescent shells can create rainbows in the right light. Nick is startled to see that her face is bare. Nick’s the sort of girl who checks her lippy every half-hour and keeps a compact in every handbag. A person who dares to forgo makeup altogether seems downright subversive, just as brave as somebody with a bold eye or an edgy haircut.

What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t even seem to _need_  makeup. She’s got it all: long lashes, flushed lips, high cheekbones. Her skin glows, as if the sun hasn’t touched only her skin, but her whole being as well. It’s like an aura, and it’s intriguing, especially considering Nick’s own Ibiza-week tan had seemed to fade the moment she’d stepped back onto British soil. Nick isn’t quite sure how auras work, but she thinks she’d like to bask in the girl’s golden one for a while.

Nick hears rustling and gasping behind her. She turns around to see Daisy and Collette walking up behind them, grocery bags clustered in their arms.

“Hiya,” Nick calls, waving.

“I’m so glad we found you,” Daisy says. “We were worried, thought she might have gotten away.”

“We had quite a fright,” Collette says.

“We’re alright, everything’s good,” Nick says. “But real talk: you thought I would _lose_ her? Really? It’s like you have no faith in me at all.”

“She is a well tricksy bugger,” Collette says.

“And I did almost lose her, to be fair. She ran all the way over to this fountain, and then she jumped in, thinking it was all some fun new game. Had no choice but to go in after her.”

“At least you’re both safe and sound,” Daisy says.

“Ruined my new trainers, though,” Nick says, looking down at them and having a bit of a sulk.

“Oh, you’ve got plenty more pairs of trainers,” Collette says, in a tone Nick’s sure she’d intended to be comforting. Nick doesn’t _feel_  very comforted. She’s resisting the urge to whinge, “but I don’t have any like _these_ …” and “they’re so new, Pig didn’t even get the chance to chew on them yet”.

“Those are Marc Jacobs, yeah?” Daisy asks.

“Unfortunately,” Nick says. “Not loaners, either. Though I reckon it’d be even worse for me if they were. Have to buy ‘em new ones.”

“I think I know someone who’ll can send you another pair. So long as you wear them out, show them off. Give the brand a bit of good press.”

“Oh, that’s what I’m ace at.” Nick brightens.

“See, not to worry, Grimmy. It’ll work out.”

“Wait, Grimmy… Like, Grimmy from the radio?” the girl asks, looking up at them. She’s paused stroking Pig’s back, and Pig snuffles to get her attention.

“That’s me,” Nick says. “More of a hobby though, the radio thing is. My real passion is dog training. That’s where my sights are set. As you can see, I’m quite good at it.” Nick grins.

“Oh definitely. I reckon you’ve a natural gift for it,” the girl says.

“Just need to master obedience training, and then I think I’ll be ready to take my talents to the top,” Nick says.

“You’re certainly good at getting her to socialise,” Daisy says. She looks from Nick to the girl and back, a gleam of mischief in her eye.

“Little Pig comes by that honestly,” Nick says, only half-teasing. “Give her a bit more time and she’ll be pals with half the pets in London.”

“Not to mention the people of London,” Collette says. “Who’s your new friend?”

“This is...”

“Harry,” the girl says, standing up and wiping her muddy hands on her cut-off trousers.

Pig flops over on her side, a pose most everyone seems find irresistible. But Harry seems to think politeness is more important, holding out her now-dry hand to shake both Daisy and Collette’s hands whilst they introduce themselves.

“And I’m Nick. Which you sort of already knew.”

“Yeah.” Harry grins, and shakes Nick’s hand as well.

She has thin wrists and big palms, just like Nick, and the eye contact is easy. For ages Nick’s been self-conscious about her height and her hands -- always the big spoon in spoons, the outer hand in handholding -- and she wonders if Harry’s the same way.

Harry seems to embrace it, with rings that press hard against Nick’s own when they touch. She’s got a mix, Nick notices, of chunky antiques and stacked Topshop rings. She shows off what’s different about her in the way it took Nick years to learn, and Nick likes that.

Harry meets Nick’s eyes in the blink before they take their hands back, and for the first time, Nick can see her eyes are the same colour as a bottle of Stella, and just as luminous.

As for her height, a glance down affords Nick the realisation that Harry’s ankle boots have a heel at least two inches.

“I like your show, I meant to say. I listen when I can, and like, it’s cool to see someone getting out there and grabbing their dream job, especially a woman. It’s cool.”

“That’s lovely to hear, thank you. Where you from?” Harry’s got an accent slow and warm as spun sugar, but Nick can’t place it exactly.

“Chesire. You?”

“Oh, I think I’ve actually been there. M’from Oldham, so it’s quite close. When I was a kid we would sometimes take day trips down there. There’s like -- that really massive clock museum there, innit?”

_Nice going, Grimshaw. Way to impress her._

But Harry laughs, her eyes crinkling, and when she tosses her head back, her hat slips so much she has to grab it to keep it from falling off.

“The Cuckooland Museum,” she says, nodding. “I think we went there on a school trip with my class.”

“That’s actually what it’s called?” Collette asks.

“It’s a _real thing,_ Collette. My parents took me there. Kind of boring, though, wasn’t it?” Nick asks.

“I only remember was how loud it was,” Harry says, shrugging.

“So loud you couldn’t even think. I reckon my parents thought it was some kind of punishment for subjecting them to hours and hours of grunge and underground hip-hop.”

“But it _was_ a rite of passage for Northerners, I think. In a way. We all went through it,” Harry says. She tucks her hands into the pockets of her shorts and leans back against the tree.

“I just know I shudder every time I go to someone’s flat and they’ve got a bloody singin’ clock,” Nick says.

“I know what I’m getting you for your next birthday,” Collette says.

“Oh my god, I would literally disown you,” Nick groans. “Don’t you dare.”

“I ought to disown _you!_ Dropping perfectly good groceries on the ground and leaving your poor mates to pick them up. Yours were all jars, too. Very poky.”

“I had to go after Little Pig! She would have run off to another country, probably, if I hadn’t gone after her.”

“Or up a tree,” Daisy says.

“She can’t climb trees,” Nick says. “Learned that the hard way, didn’t we?” She pats Pig’s snout, cringing as she remembers when Pig had collided into a tree. Quite traumatic, the whole thing. 

Harry begins to adjust her hat, reaching beneath it to let her hair loose. Nick can see the chestnut waves that she’d tucked underneath, soft like someone had just combed their fingers through them.

“How old is Pig?” Harry asks. She runs her hand through her hair, patting it down in the back a few times. It’s soothing to watch.

Soon, Nick realises she’s forgotten the question. And the answer. Her mind is blank. Her mind is the Sahara. Her mind is the moon.

“She's, she's um -- ”

“She looks 'round six months,” Harry says.

“Yeah, she is.” Nick says, breathing a sigh of relief. “The shelter wasn't quite sure exactly how old, 'cause she's a rescue.”

"Where’d you get her?"

It’s incredibly hard to concentrate with Harry’s face just right there, doing its whole intent-nodding thing.   
  
"Oh, this shelter in London. Well nice place."

Pig snuffles loudly, and they both turn to look at her, sprawled out on the ground with her belly exposed.

Nick bends down so she can pet Pig, and Harry follows, sitting down with her legs underneath her. From here, Nick has a better view of Harry’s shapely legs and the plaster on her knee with a grinning banana on it.

"Y’know, when I went in for the first time to go look at the kennel dogs, I think I had a good feeling about Pig right then. They took her out so we could meet properly, and she was so friendly. And all the while the lady at the kennel was talking, going on and on, Pig kept giving me these looks, like 'can you _believe_ this lady, mate’. She kept huffing and making these little offended noises. Like she was a bloomin' person!

“I don't think she knew what she was doing, maybe she just had an itch or a sneeze, but I couldn't stop laughing. I'm sure they thought I was just a total nutter. I had to try and be super normal after that so they wouldn’t realise I actually _am_  a total nutter. That's how I knew I made the right choice in picking her.”

Harry laughs, a joyous cackle that Nick isn’t expecting at all.

“She really is quite funny. In a good way,” Harry says.

“Cheeky, too. I let her get away with so much. But I do get strict with her, when I have to, even though I hate it. Doesn’t take much, just a disappointed look, and she makes these sad little sounds, like she can’t hardly believe she’s misbehaved, either.”

“It’s the most darling little thing,” Daisy says, laughing. Her laugh is soft and good-natured, the sound butter-yellow would be if it was a sound.

“I knew a dog like her once,” Harry says. “Actually, no… Now that I think of it, I don’t think that dog was like Pig at all. Not even sure it was a dog. I think it was a goat.” Harry’s got a crease between her brows, thinking about this. “Yeah, I think it was a goat.”

“Honest mistake,” Nick says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She’s not sure where Harry is going with this, but she’s endeared regardless.

“It was this goat my nan had. Like, a pet goat. Didn’t get along very well with our cats.”

“Kind of a weird combination, that. Goats and cats.”

“They thought so, too, I guess. We were always getting new cats and we’d bring ‘em over when we stayed the weekend. I always hoped the goat would -- it was a lady goat -- I hoped she would like, want to mother the kittens whenever we had them. I thought we’d be, like, in the paper and on the news and stuff because it was so cute and weird, but that never happened.”

“It’s not too late,” Nick says. “Get a little baby goat and a little baby cat and raise them together, and see what happens. Maybe they’ll be best pals.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Daisy says.

“They could turn out to be worst enemies,” Harry offers.

“You’re probably right. I never had pets as a young child, so I don’t really know anything,” Nick says.

“You didn’t?” Collette asks. “You’re so good around them.”

“Nope. Wasn’t allowed. Which I realise is maybe why my sister lives on a farm now. She’s proper farmy now.”

“Are you going to take Pig there next time you go?” Daisy asks.

“Maybe once she’s bigger and I don’t have to worry as much about her running off and terrorizing all the animals or encountering a big, grumpy horse. Jane’s got like four of those. Very pretty, but don’t get too close.”

“Doesn’t Jane have a dog, herself?”

“Yeah, one of those small floofy ones. I guess all the other animals are sensible, so she figured she could have just one that doesn’t do much but shed and sleep in inconvenient places.”

Harry hasn’t said anything, and when Nick turns to look at her, she instantly notices that Harry’s shoulders are drooping. Her head is tilted toward the ground, not toward the sun like before. Pig had gone off to go wee on a nearby rock, so for a second Nick thinks it could be a reaction to Pig’s absence, but then she realises: no, this is more serious. Harry rubs her hands on her thighs once, forcefully, before bringing them up to cup the back of her neck.

Nick’s a bit nervous watching her. She has no idea what to expect, and for once she isn’t quite sure what to do. Normally she has no trouble checking in with people if they look gutted, but it’s not quite that Harry looks sad. She looks distant. Nick isn’t sure what to do with distant, especially since she’d just met Harry a handful of moments ago.

“I wasn’t quite honest before,” Harry says, biting her lip and frowning. “I actually, um -- when I was in uni, at U of Manchester, I’d listen to the Breakfast Show every day before classes, and it was this kind of -- this _major_ part in my day. I’d listen and I’d -- I’d feel like, ‘okay, I can take on the world now, I feel ready’.” Harry’s firm when she speaks, as if she’s telling it to herself as well as them. Her drawl hasn’t gotten faster, but louder, and the change is compelling.

Harry clenches and unclenches her hands, eyelashes fluttering fast.

“And it wasn’t like you were going on radio every morning and talking about, like…  _major_ things. But the fact that you were there, being a woman and being Northern and being -- being different from like, what other people expected or wanted you to be… It was just huge for me to see that.”

She looks up at them, at Nick mostly, with startling vulnerability in her eyes and an absolute calm in her posture, like this sort of unabashed sharing was something she did every day. But her voice betrays her eyes, shaking when she goes on.

“In school, people, they, they think you should like, know what you wanna do with your whole life when you’ve just finished your GSCE’s, and it doesn’t make sense to me. How’re you supposed to decide something so massive with all this pressure on you when you’re just a kid? It’s not fair, it’s just mad. And when you get to uni, it’s so rigid, you can’t change your mind without losing all your credits. So if you don’t actually know what you want to do by the time you hit, like, age seven, the cards are stacked against you. But it’s like -- it’s more than just the unfairness, it’s that people think you can’t do certain things,  _be_ certain things, just because you’re a  woman, which is even more mad and rude and insulting.” The crease between Harry’s brows is back, and it deepens, her eye back on the ground.There’s a tear frozen at the edge of her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away. She’s got her fingers wrapped around her necklace, like a devout believer shaking in church.

Collette murmurs something that sounds an awful lot like “poor little duck”.

“And I -- I mean, you’re different. From what other people expect or want you to be. Typical career, typical family -- you’re not about that. You didn’t get straight marks in uni, you let things happen as they did, and you did really well for yourself, and it makes me think I can, too.” Harry punctuates that by exhaling, and rubs the back of her neck again.

Nick fumbles in her head for the right words. Her legs feel liquid and her head feels fuzzy, but her body moves before her mind catches up, and she steps forward to grab Harry’s shoulder. It’s more forward than she means it to be, but it feels natural and she keeps it there as she speaks.

“I appreciate you saying all that. I’m glad that I could be for you what Sarah Cox was to me when I was growing up with a mum and dad who just didn’t understand,” Nick says. “And I’m glad that I can be for you what Fearne and Gemma and Annie Mac are to me now. All those women are lovely, and I reckon I’d be nowhere interesting without them. Wouldn’t be here talking to you, anyway. I’d probably be off doing summat sensible in an office somewhere, or like, being a dental hygienist. I’d know how to do, like, proper adult things, sure. Packing a trunk and cleaning the garbage disposal, and all that.

“But I don’t. I know how to make a _sick_ whiskey sour and I know how to throw a great hen do and make one hell of a mix CD, and in the end that’s what matters to me. And I wouldn’t be able to do any of what I actually _can_ do if Sarah hadn’t been there to show me that I could be whoever the hell I wanted to be and do whatever the hell I wanted to do. So, I like. I get it. I really really get it,” Nick says, nodding.

“Thanks,” Harry says. Her face is calm and smooth, her lips slightly parted, and Nick’s so focused on that face, and the implausibility of it being real and not an illusion, that she doesn’t see Harry’s hand go up to meet hers on Harry’s shoulder. But she feels it. Harry doesn’t touch it, exactly -- she just runs her fingers, once, over the back of Nick’s hand, over the bumpy rings and the smooth nail lacquer.

“What did you decide, in the end?” Daisy asks, effectively breaking the moment.

“Well, actually, I dropped out,” Harry says, takes her hand back and shoving it into her pocket.

“Wow, that’s flattering.” Nick laughs weakly, trying to get her breath back. “I’m so glad I influenced you to drop out of uni. That’ll definitely please Big Boss Ben, me influencing the youth of this fine nation to say ta-ta to higher education -- ”

“I’m only kidding,” Harry says, laughing. It’s a welcome sound. “Kind of. I’m taking a break. To figure things out, I think.”

“Yeah, that sounds brilliant. Loads of people need to do that, I think, but they don’t. No rush to be an adult. Take your time about it. It’s kind of overrated, anyway, being old and mature.” Nick’s face screws up reflexively as she says that, reacting to aging the same way Collette reacted to takeaway.

“Like you said, you and Sarah and Annie and everyone else… You make me feel like I can do anything. There’s a whole world of possibilities to explore, and I want to explore them before I, like, make any major decisions.”

Harry stops talking as she fishes in her pocket and pulls out her buzzing mobile.

“Hi, Mum...” she drawls. “Yeah, I’m alright… Oh, shit, I was supposed to meet you up at three, wasn’t I?” Harry slaps her hand to her forehead. “I’m so sorry, I’m going to leave right now… I know, I know, I didn’t see your calls... I’m so sorry… Bye, be there soon.”

“Everything okay?” Nick asks.

This can’t mean Harry’s leaving. Clearly Nick had just missed the part in the conversation where Harry said she was going to leave tomorrow, after she’d talked to Nick till midnight and snogged for hours and hours. Or would never leave. Never leaving was okay, too.

“Yeah, I was just supposed to pick up my parents like two hours ago at the train station. Totally forgot.” She shrugs. “It happens. Gotta go now, though.”

 ****_No. No, no no. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to work at all._

Harry picks up her rucksack from the ground and kneels down so she can rub her knuckles between Pig’s ears.  

“It was good to meet you,” Harry says, getting back up to her feet. Nick hates that she looks so calm.

“You as well,” Nick says, automatic. “I’ll see you ‘round, yeah?” She means for it to sound jaunty and casual, but it probably comes out with the note of anxiety she feels. Harry’s slipping away, and she can’t do anything to delay it. She needs something to grasp. Harry’s word to hold onto.

“See you,” Harry says, showing those dimples again.

She waves back at them as she walks away.

\--

“That was _Rather Be_ by Clean Bandit featuring Jess Glynne, here on Radio 1. Such a nice warm tune for a chilly Monday morning, innit?” Nick says. “It’s our first proper day of winter here, I reckon. Flurries and everything on the way in this morning. Quite nippy out in London right now, wouldn’t you say.”

“Very nippy,” Matt says, a nasally teasing twinge to his voice.

“For the benefit of those listening, I want to let you all know that it’s _so_ nippy, Matt Fincham has taken to wearing _three_ jumpers -- ”

“Just two,” Matt says. “One of them is a jacket.”

“A small technicality,” Nick says, waving him off. “If you’ve got a great jumper you’d like to show us, or if you’d like to challenge Matt Fincham’s three-jumper record, you can text in or tweet us at _R1 Breakfast_.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to break, seeing as it’s just two,” Matt says under his breath.

“I had quite the adventure with the dog yesterday,” Nick announces. She’s got to fill in the _Chatty Cathy_  box of time on her little Matt-made schedule sheet, and people seem to love Pig stories. She always gets loads of texts in from people saying that Pig reminds them of their own pets.

"So you know how I hate cooking. _Hate_  cooking. Would rather starve. So my friend Collette was over, sees my fridge, and I've only got, like, old salad dressing and stale crackers. She's like -- in her very poky way, Collette is -- ‘oi, _okay,_  that’s it, I’ve had enough, you need to have a big shop.’ No choice at all whatsoever in the matter.

“So me and Collette and my other friend, we go to the market, and after we’ve done our big shop, we're walking back, we're all chatting… Except the dog, right, I’ve got her with me, but she can't talk. Though she does have some incredible, quite person-like strops…

“Anyway, we're walking along… and she gets loose!” Nick pauses for dramatic effect. “The dog gets loose! Right out of my hand! And off she goes. ‘Course I thought it was funny, but my friends were like, ‘don’t just stand there, _do_ something’. So we start calling her, and then I go after her, and it's like she's in training for the Doggy Olympics or something. Trying to get the record for sprinting."

"I believe it," Fiona says. "Pig _is_  quite fast."

" _Right?_ Anyway, so she's running and I'm chasing after her like a total nutter, and I'm getting well tired, you know, wishing I'd gone to the gym lately. And then I realise she's getting close to this fountain, one of those massive ones in memory of someone or whatever -- "

"Were you at Regent’s?" Matt asks.

"Yes."

"I've seen that fountain, it isn't very big -- "

"Shut up, Fincham." Nick reaches over and tweaks him on the nose. “Pig _leaps_ right into this massive fountain, and she’s splashing and she’s having the best time ever, and I’m outside the fountain wondering what the bloomin’ hell to do, because I’m wearing these really sick leather trackies --”

“What d’you need _leather_  trackies for?” Fiona asks. She looks genuinely confused, and Nick spins around her chair to enlighten her.

“It’s fashion, Little Fifi. Don’t need to have a reason. Isn’t that right, Ian Chaloner?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Ian says, but Nick can see a phone in his hands and a computer screen  glowing in front of him and knows he isn’t really listening.

“I’m chasing Little Pig all around this fountain, and she thinks it’s a game, like some kind of fabulous new game her mum has just invented, so she starts running even further away. And here I am on the other side of the fountain, trying to catch her, and it isn’t working. Nothing’s working, not calling her name, not any of the ruckus I’m making. I even tried to _bribe_  her with loads of treats, but dogs aren’t really like people in that way, are they? They don’t really respond to bribery. And I am just feeling like a wretched doggy mum, trying to get her back whilst she’s gleefully frolicking in the fountain, having the best time of her life.”

“So what did you do?” Fiona asks.

“I went in after her, which I believe is the moment I finally felt like a real parent, because I had to go and ruin my Marc Jacobs trainers in the filthy water. True sacrifice, that.”

Matt shakes his head in what’s obviously solemn agreement.

“And do you know what Little Pig did? She jumped right out on the other side. Just as I went in,  she went out. Can you believe that?”

“Thurston’s done the same thing,” Ian says. “Must be a cheeky dog thing.”

“So she’s out, now, and I’m in, so I struggle -- and it’s an actual struggle, because the water was grey and very cold, just like this weather today, and I could hardly walk. But eventually I get out, and I see her trotting over to this person who’s sitting underneath a tree. So I follow the dog, and this girl, this girl Pig goes up to…. You know those people who, when you see them, you actually get angry? Because they’re just so fit?”

“Like Liam Hemsworth,” Fiona says.

“Totally, or like, Kate Moss, or Matt Fincham. Sometimes I get distracted during the show just thinking about the perfect colour to describe Matt’s eyes. When I lose my train of thought on the air, that’s nine times out of ten why.”

Matt rolls his eyes.

“This girl, though -- she was massively interested in Pig. Pig just adored her. When my mates found us  -- “

“Off having a little rendezvous, were you?” Fiona says.

“So naughty, Fiona, I love it. Actually, though, we were just by this one tree. Quite visible to passers-by. I know, I know, I’ve disappointed you all. I’ve disappointed the nation… I’m sorry, everybody. Truly, madly, deeply sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” says Ian.

“Like I was saying, when my friends showed up, Pig didn’t even notice. Couldn’t be arsed at all. All she cared about was this girl.”

“Just Pig, huh?” Fiona says. Wicked woman, she’s smirking.

“I think Little Nickie’s got a bit of a blush on,” Matt says.

“Do not.” Nick tries to be firm, but a laugh bubbles out. “You’re spreading lies, Matty, lies and slander.”

“Mm-hmm, whatever you say,” Matt says, playing the “uh huh, honey” sound bite and the kissy noise in quick succession. Nick does the mature thing and ignores it.

“Please tell me you had a moment like in _101 Dalmatians_ where the dog winds you all up and you're squashed together, so you really have no choice but to kiss." Fiona says. She’s given up teasing in favour of genuine interest, which is more than what Nick can say for her other co-workers. Matt and Ian are whispering just out of her earshot.

“Nah, I reckon Pig's not romantic or crafty enough for that. Would have made a better story, though,” Nick says.

“Well, what _did_   happen?” Ian asks. Nick’s got the attention of half the people in the studio; she feels a pleased little surge of victory at that.

“We just chatted for a bit. I was my little irresistible self, of course,” Nick says.

“We were all quite concerned about that,” Matt says.

“I didn’t doubt you,” Fiona says. “Alright, maybe for like ten seconds. A minute, max.”

“Now, I don’t mean to get all serious and sappy and stuff...” Nick grins. “But humor me for a moment, will you?”

“Oh, here it comes,” Matt says. “What’d you do now?”

Nick recomposes her face, gets a bit serious.

“The person I met in the park, that girl… While we were talking, there was something she said that I reckon’ll stick with me for a while. It made me realise I really can reach people here, on this show. Like, on more than a surface level.” Nick lets out a nervous laugh. She rarely says anything like this, and when she does, it’s usually with a heady dose of facetiousness.

“And, um. It just made me really grateful that I’m able to come here every morning and do what I love, with people that I love. We’ve done a lot of really mad, wonderful things, my team and I, and I just want to thank all of you for listening and texting in and supporting. And for letting me become a little part of your lives the way you’ve become a part of mine.”

Nick takes a deep breath and lets it out before she looks around. She’d said what needed to be said, and it’s kind of terrifying but mostly exhilarating.

Fiona’s grinning big at her, swiping underneath her eyes. Matt and Ian are smiling, too. Seems like everyone Nick can see is, actually.

“Not decent of you to make me cry before seven in the morning, is it,” Fiona says.

“Never cared much about proper timing, me,” Nick says. “M’here, after all. Could be in bed. But I’m not, of course.”

Still in her chair, Fiona moves as close as she can without going out of range of her mic. She can’t get close enough to give Nick a cuddle, but their hands can still reach, and she grabs Nick’s hand and squeezes.

“I love working with you,” Fiona says. “So nice having another girl around. Makes me feel strong.”

“Someone’s got to break up all this testosterone; why shouldn’t it be us,” Nick says.

“So that’s all you think of me?” Ian says. “The truth comes out.”

“Were you not listening, Little Ian?” Nick says, pretending to be offended. “Better get your ears checked. I just said I think the world of you.”

“Ah, now I seem to recall that bit," Ian says. "I feel the same about you."

“This place wouldn’t be at all the same without you, you madcap,” Matt adds.

“I am taking that as a sincere compliment.”

“But really, um.” Matt opens and closes his mouth, like he can’t decide what to say. “You’re a pleasure to work with.”

“Matt _Fincham,_  you closet softie,” Nick says, grinning. She lets go of Fifi so she can scoot over to Matt. His desk is closer, so she’s able to attach herself to him quite quickly for a cuddle.

“All right, that’s enough,” Matt says, patting her arm like a nan would. He’d make a great nan. “Really, Nick, m’good.”

Nick rolls back to her desk, feeling triumphant.

“So what happened in the end, with the girl?” Fiona says, leaning in closer. “Go on, finish your story, yeah?”

“Did you at least get her number?” Matt says, his annoyance eclipsed by the way he’s actually the smallest bit intrigued.

“I never said this story had a _happy_  ending,” says Nick. “I actually. I, uh, I forgot in all the commotion.”

“You’re joking,” Fiona gasps.

Matt plays Collette’s “are ya joking”, sensitive friend that he is.

“Oh, Collette’s going to kill us. We were supposed to stop playing that one,” Nick says.

“You’re being honest? You didn’t get it?” Fiona says.

“No,” Nick moans. “I was very overwhelmed, alright? We were having all these bloody _feelings_ and you know what it’s like when you can hardly get the words out, so for me to get the words and be conversing with her and sounding like an actual person… I don’t know, it felt like enough.”

“Nick,” Fiona groans. “We were all cheering for you.”

“Well, that settles it,” Ian says. “We’re going to find her.”

“You wouldn’t,” Nick gasps.

But she knows they would. In her mind’s eye she can see them asking the listeners who live in the area if they have some information about Harry, the mysterious girl in the sunhat. (Kind of like Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, only not like Girl With the Dragon Tattoo at all) Maybe they’d the BBC into a tip-line with people for that purpose alone. A hashtag on Twitter, even.   _#getgrimmyagf._  

Britain’s most eligible bachelorette, that was her.

Oh, god, Nick thinks. It would be absolutely mortifying, all of it. But as embarrassing as a _Grimmy’s Cinderella_  campaign would be, it fills her with a strange sort of warmth.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you can’t do it,” Nick blurts out, before anyone’s even suggested the campaign. Fiona, Matt, and Ian look at her like she's odd. “I’ll just go to the park every day. Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.”

“Hmm.” Ian Chaloner, love expert, strokes his chin. “That’s not an awful idea.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Nick says.

“She might live nearby,” Fiona says.

“I’ll wait by the fountain every day, same place, same time. Be quite romantic, wouldn’t it?” A slow-motion montage of her and Harry running to each other in a field of flowers begins to play in Nick’s head. That’s exactly what it would be like. Except since she was running into her love’s  arms she wouldn’t be gasping for breath or look a right mess from the wind. Love would save her from those indignities.

“Make sure you bring the dog to help you spot her,” Ian says.

“Excellent point,” Nick says. Her mental image is amended to include Pig running toward Harry as well, with Nick running even faster so Pig can’t keep up. Her dream, her rules. Slightly less romantic with the dog, but Ian’s right -- wouldn’t be proper to leave Pig at home for something so important. And wasn’t Pig their matchmaker, in a way? Kind of weird to think about. But maybe Pig had had her nose out on this sort of thing. Nick imagines telling people about how they’d met: _It all started with an empty fridge and a dog too curious for her own bleedin’ good…_

It would become a classic love story for the modern age. People would tell their grandchildren. It’d be like _The Notebook._

"Like _The Notebook_ , you said?" Fiona asks. Nick realises she's spoken aloud.

"Nah, it's not like _The Notebook_ ," Ian says. "You're not engaged to anybody else, so that isn't a problem."

"And there isn't a dog in _The Notebook_ , either," Fiona says.

"I do happen to be Rachel McAdams, though," Nick says, grinning. "Can't you tell?" She purses her lips and vamps it up a little.

"Is that what you did around your girl?" Matt asks.

"She's not my girl, Matt Fincham."

"But she will be..." Fiona sing-songs.

This sets off a series of "ooooooh's" from her team.

"Alright, moving on. Next track," Nick says, grinning despite herself.

 


End file.
